|
|
 |
|
|
|
register |
bbs |
search |
rss |
faq |
about
|
|
|
meet up |
add to del.icio.us |
digg it
|
|
|
|
Yesterday's Warrior From the silly author of St
Subject: New (sorta) story: "Yesterday's Warrior"
From the silly author of "Still Looking for Things" and "Pardon Me..." comes
a bold, somewhat new, and (yes) serious ST:TNG story. This previously
appeared a few months ago in issue #8 of the fanzine, _Ship's Log:
Supplemental_, published by Timothy Perdue ([email protected], but
he won't be back till fall). It has been slightly edited since then.
Any comments are appreciated, but this account will expire within a few
weeks.
Felix Ling
------------
Yesterday's Warrior
Military log, combat date 43108.6. After sustaining
significant damage in a confrontation with Klingon forces at the
Koralis system, we have been informed that none of the nearby
Starbases are able to accommodate us at this time. We have
therefore been ordered to effect repairs on our own as best we
can. In the meantime, we are to proceed to the Gault system,
where a farming colony had been recently hit by Klingon forces,
and we are to assist in the relief efforts as much as we can.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard briskly strode onto the bridge.
"Report."
"We should be at the Gault system in six hours. Commander
LaForge reports that he should have main power back up to seventy
percent by that time," reported Riker.
Picard nodded and took the captain's chair. He glanced up at
his first officer. When it was clear that Riker was not planning
to leave, he asked, "How long has it been since you've had any
rest, Number One?"
"About two days, sir."
"Well then, why don't we try to rectify that situation."
"Sir?"
"Go get some sleep, Number One."
"Captain, I think I should..."
"Will, I think it is clear that we are never going to be in a
position of complete safety, and you are not going to get a
better opportunity to get some rest. I think you should avail
yourself of it, Number One." Riker bristled. "That is an order,
Commander."
"Yes, sir," Riker snapped. Picard gazed after his first
officer. It had been somewhat saddening to have seen such a
promising young officer become hardened by the years of war. He
had started off as almost the ideal first officer: ambitious,
eager, and very capable. Now, he seemed to have lost the first
two qualities and was in danger of losing the third. Nowadays he
often tried to force situations and was even beginning to chafe
under Picard's command. It wasn't bad. Nothing that would come
close to resembling insubordination. Riker would obey orders,
but he had a disturbing way of making sure everybody knew he
wasn't happy about it.
It was too bad they didn't get along better. Picard actually
liked the man, and it was a shame they had to meet under such
harsh circumstances. Clearly, Riker was not in his element in
this war. Neither was Picard, for that matter, nor anyone
else... No, there was Tasha Yar.
Now Lieutenant Tasha Yar was one person who definitely seemed
to be in her element, Picard mused. Such anger and fierceness,
but carefully channeled and focused. Unlike Riker, she seemed to
work better when angry, and she could always be depended upon to
keep a level head in the heat of battle. In fact, she almost
seemed to live for battle. It would be interesting to see how
she would have fit in if there hadn't been a war, he mused.
Will Riker stalked down the corridors to his quarters. He
knew that Picard was probably right. He needed the rest. He
just hated having the Enterprise in such a helpless condition and
not being able to do anything about it.
And Picard *was* right. There really is no better time than
this to get in some sleep. He knew that, and he was annoyed at
Picard for having to tell him and annoyed at himself for making
it necessary for Picard to have to tell him.
He stepped into his room and stopped, the doors sliding shut
behind him. God, he was so tense. It was times like these he
wished Deanna were around. Deanna. Why did he keep thinking of
her? He doubted she gave him much thought, let alone pleasant
ones, considering how abruptly he'd left her. At the time it
seemed the smart thing to do. The only thing he could do. But
now... Well, it was over and done long ago. No use dwelling on
it. Who knows where she's ended up. There's certainly plenty of
people who could use some real counselling. Like himself.
A few years ago he was sure of where he was going, what he
wanted to do. Being a starship captain seemed to be the perfect
role for him -- it was just a matter of time before he got there.
Now, he wasn't so sure if he'd ever get there, and worse, he
wasn't sure he wanted to. He probably would still be better off
as a captain, but now it seemed that he was going nowhere, fast.
He just didn't seem to have that drive he used to have, and it
wasn't likely that Picard was giving Starfleet glowing
recommendations of him.
"Standard Orbit, Ensign. Open a channel, Lieutenant Yar"
A rather grizzled face appeared on the main viewscreen. "This
is Chancellor Nurchov of Gault."
"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise. We are
here to assist you in any way we can."
"Thank God you're here. Those Klingons hit us pretty bad.
Most of our crops were wiped out, and it seems that a good deal
of our soil has been sterilized. Imagine that. A farming colony
in need of food. A good many homes were also wiped out, so any
form of shelter you can provide would be appreciated."
"We will do what we can."
"One more thing. With the shortage of food, and all, there
have been a few outbreaks of violence. It's not been too bad,
but I think you'd be best off bringing down some security forces
to make sure riots don't break out over the food you're
bringing."
"A sensible precaution. We'll have a security team beamed
down shortly and have them start distributing supplies as soon as
possible."
"Many thanks, Captain."
Lieutenant Tasha Yar surveyed the area. Everything seemed to
be going smoothly. There had been a few minor outbreaks, but
nothing that her team couldn't handle within a few moments. She
hated seeing people reduced to this condition. She knew what
that life was like and had been lucky to escape it herself. It
was the least she could do to help those who weren't as lucky.
Damn those Klingons! Daring to hit a defenseless colony like
this. Tasha clenched her fists tightly.
Suddenly, she noticed loud shouting voices nearby, and she ran
towards the commotion. Apparently, a group of colonists were
yelling at an old couple. As she got there, it quickly
degenerated into a shoving match.
"Break it up! Break it up, now!!" she yelled, pulling the men
apart.
As she helped one man to his feet, the man turned towards the
men he'd been fighting and yelled, "I'll get you, you murderers!
Murderers!"
"Sergey, please!" said the woman, rushing to his side to
restrain him.
"Are you okay?" asked Tasha Yar.
"I'm fine," the man replied.
"How did this start?"
"Those bastards killed our son!"
Tasha paused. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sorry. If I can
do anything to help..."
"No. You've done enough already, thank you."
"Why did they kill your son?"
"Why do you think? Hate, fear, anger. Prejudice. They never
for once thought of him as a person!"
Puzzled, Tasha asked, "When did this happen? Do you have
evidence? Why haven't they been tried for their crimes?"
The man, Sergey, shook his head. "No, they will never be
tried. Nobody here considers it to be a crime! They all
probably thought it was a heroic act!" he spat. "Now would you
just please leave us alone?"
"Sergey," the woman pleaded. "She's just trying to help us."
But Sergey continued to glare at Tasha. "She's in
*Starfleet*!" he hissed. "Starfleet got us into this war with
the Klingons, and because of that, our son was murdered just for
being a Klingon!" He then got up and stalked away.
"I am so sorry. He took Worf's death very hard. Please don't
take it personally. Helena Rozhenko," she said, offering her
hand. Tasha smiled weakly as she grasped it reassuringly, and
Helena then turned to hurry after her husband.
A Klingon! Their son was a Klingon!
Guinan slowly walked around Ten Forward, greeting people here
and there with a small wave. Tensions seemed to be eased a bit,
but everyone was still a bit on edge. It was natural. After
all, this was war. And this ship could really use a counselor,
she mused. But for now, it would have to settle for her.
And yet, something had been bothering her for a while, too.
It wasn't just that she disliked war. Indeed, there wasn't much
there for anyone to like. But it just wasn't that. Something
seemed funny. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she seemed
to gradually get closer and closer to it as time went on. No
hurry. When it came to her, she would know. For now she could
wait.
She noticed Tasha Yar, sitting alone and looking somewhat
troubled. She made her way over to her.
"Not enough action in this mission for you?"
"Oh hello, Guinan. No, it's just... I've been thinking."
Guinan sat down and patiently remained silent.
"I ran into a couple down there. They had a Klingon son who
was killed, and the father blames Starfleet for his death. For
starting this whole war."
"Are you saying that it bothers you that this man blames
Starfleet?"
"Yes." Tasha paused. "No."
Guinan studied Tasha's face. "You can't fathom why anybody
would adopt a Klingon."
"That's not true! I'm not a racist!" Guinan merely kept
looking at her with that steady gaze of hers. "But I'm not!"
Tasha pleaded. "Am I?"
"What do you think?"
"I shouldn't be. There's no reason for it. They're
individuals, just like us, and it just happens that our
respective governments can't get along."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I want to. I really want to. But this is war! I can't
afford to think that way. I can't hesitate to fire our weapons
because I'm afraid of killing Klingons!"
"Is that what you think would happen? Are you really afraid
of what you might become if you dared to stop hating the other
side?"
"Yes," Tasha whispered.
"Well, you really ought to be afraid of what you might become
if you *don't* stop hating the other side."
"Geordi! How are those repairs coming?"
"What's the matter, Commander. Not working fast enough for
you?"
"Depends. You have those shields up yet?"
"Up to fifty percent, now. Should have them back up to eighty
within an hour."
"That's not good enough."
"Well, it's gonna have to be good enough. We've got everybody
working as hard as they can, now."
"Well, get them to work harder!"
"With all due respect, Commander, what is the big rush?"
"The Enterprise is a sitting duck out here, and you think I'm
rushing you?!?"
"Quite frankly -- yes! Commander, you're *pushing* again.
You're pushing me, yourself. You're pushing everybody! And it
isn't particularly helpful."
Riker stared at LaForge for a moment, then let out a long
breath and leaned against the diagnostics table. "I'm sorry,
Geordi. I don't know what's gotten into me these days."
"These days? You've been at my throat for months!"
"Come on. I wasn't really that bad, was I?" Riker said with
a weak smile. "Okay, I guess I was. I don't know what's
happened to me. I guess it's just that this war's so damn
frustrating. We never seem to make any headway."
Geordi stared at Riker for a moment. "Yeah, I know what you
mean. I keep working as fast as I can, but I just don't have the
time or equipment to fully repair everything. All I can do is
just patch everything up and hope it'll hold together. I mean, I
sometimes don't see the point of bothering to fix everything when
it's only going to get banged up again. But I keep doing it
cause I just can't help it."
"Can't bear to see broken equipment lying around?" Riker asked
with a grin.
"And crying out for my attention. Speaking of which, I think
I'd better get back to work."
"Geordi."
"Yes, Commander?"
Riker walked slowly forward, asking hesitantly, "Have I really
been pushing everyone around too much?"
Geordi thought for a moment "You haven't been *too* bad. You
just need to lighten up a little bit more and let everybody do
their jobs. And that includes Captain Picard."
"What?"
"The man knows how to command a starship. He doesn't need you
to constantly second guess his every decision. Just let him do
his job. I know he trusts you to do yours."
"Coming!" Sergey Rozhenko yelled as he hurried to the door and
opened it. "You!"
"Please," said Tasha Yar. "I just want to talk."
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Please, Sergey. Let her talk," urged Helena, behind him.
Sergey looked back at her for a moment, then gestured for Tasha
to come in.
"Now what did you want to talk about, Starfleet Officer?"
Sergey demanded when they were all seated.
"My name is Tasha Yar."
"Okay, Tasha Yar. What do you want to talk about?"
"I was hoping you could tell me about... your son."
"Why do you want to know about my son!" he yelled, leaping to
his feet.
"I just..."
"You just what? You just want to hear about how strange and
horrible he was and get satisfaction from learning how badly he
was treated? Or do you just want to find out what kind of sick
people would take in and take care of a Klingon?"
"No! I just want to learn what he was like."
"Why?!?"
Tasha paused and took in a deep breath. "Almost all of my
life, I've been taught to hate the Klingons. Throughout my
training in Starfleet Academy, I kept hearing stories about the
atrocities they committed. And although the instructors kept
trying to encourage us that all life had value, even Klingon
life, I could see the hate glimmering in the backs of their eyes
and I knew that they hated the Klingons just like I did. And
when I finally began service in the war, I finally got my chance
to fight. And with it, I began experiencing their acts of
destruction firsthand. Every ship they destroyed, every planet
they bombarded... I lost a lot of friends in this war.
"Yes, I hated the Klingons, and I never gave it a second
thought. There's nothing wrong with hate, I thought. We're at
war! We're supposed to hate our enemies. All the more better to
make us better warriors so that we might defeat them. Now, I
find myself questioning all that I've believed in. I've hated
Klingons all my life and never found any reason not to -- until
now. I could tell that you loved your son very much, and I
hadn't thought it possible for a Klingon to be loved. Please.
Just tell me about him."
Sergey was silent for a moment. "My son. What can I tell
you." He sat down. "We had just hit the Khitomer outpost and
were going through the wreckage, looking for survivors. I came
across a Klingon infant. A mere baby! His mother, father -- his
whole family was dead. We killed them. We killed everybody!"
He shook his head. "Starfleet called it an accident. Tried to
blame the Romulans for misinformation. But that didn't change
the fact that it was us that killed them. It didn't change a
*thing*!"
"You used to be in Starfleet?" asked Tasha, surprised.
Sergey grimaced. "I'm not proud of it. I quit Starfleet that
day. And I took little Worf with me to raise as my son."
"That was the happiest day of my life," said Helena, smiling
at the memory. "Not only did I have my Sergey back, but we
finally had the little boy we've always wanted." Her smile
slowly faded. "He didn't exactly have the most pleasant
childhood. I can only imagine what he went through when he
finally learned that we were at war with his people. And the way
he was treated by everyone else!" Helena was on the verge of
tears, but Sergey reached over and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
He turned to Tasha. "Come," he said. "Let me show you some
pictures."
"Captain, the planet is hailing us."
"Onscreen, Ensign."
Chancellor Nurchov's face appeared on the viewscreen.
"Captain Picard. I must thank you for all the help you've given
us so far."
Picard strode forward, Riker not far behind. "It was the
least we could do to a colony that has provided so much
nourishment to so many other worlds."
"Unfortunately, we may not be able to do so in the future.
Much of our farming machinery was destroyed or badly damaged. We
have little hope to repair any of it. Unless, of course, you
would be able to lend the support of some of your engineers,
perhaps?"
Picard frowned. "We would like to help, but unfortunately,
all of our engineers are quite occupied in the repairs of the
Enterprise. I will see if we can maybe spare a few, but I doubt
we'll be able to help you in this area."
Nurchov nodded slowly, clearly quite disappointed. "I
understand. I appreciate all you've already done so far. Thank
you again. Gault out."
Riker turned to Picard. "You're not going to help them?"
"We *are* helping them, Number One."
"What we're doing is just temporarily relieving their
suffering. Without their machinery, they won't be able to farm
and can't sustain themselves for very long."
"I am aware of that, Number One."
"Then why can't we help them repair the machinery?"
"We need to have the Enterprise battle-ready as soon as
possible so we can join the Federation forces at Selenius 5, and
that is our top priority. If, by chance, repairs are finished
ahead of schedule, we will then try to help repair their
machinery. But not one moment before. Understood?"
"Yes, Captain," Riker quietly replied.
Picard looked somewhat questioningly at Riker, expecting a
little more resistance, or at least a more bitter tone.
Riker noticed him. "What?"
"Oh, er... Nothing, Number One. I'll be in my ready room if
you need me," Picard replied as he left the bridge.
He sat at his desk and began reviewing several reports from
Starfleet when his door chime sounded.
"Come."
"Excuse me, Captain. Do you have a moment?" asked Tasha Yar.
"Of course."
"Captain, before today, I'd thought war was clear cut. We
hate them, they hate us, and we just fight to see who stays
alive."
Picard gave a small smile. "Nothing is ever that simple,
Tasha."
"No. I guess not. Anyway, I met a couple on the surface who
had -- adopted a Klingon son. He was killed by the other
colonists soon after the Klingon attack upon the planet."
"I see."
"For a moment, I thought that he got what he deserved. I
mean, I've been killing Klingons throughout my career, so what
did one more dead Klingon matter? But I saw how it had affected
his parents. They really loved him." Tasha paused, unsure as to
how to continue.
"And now, you are wondering how you can continue fighting in
this war. Continue killing Klingons when you can no longer see
them merely as an enemy to be destroyed."
"Yes."
"I see. You could consider, perhaps, that I am the one giving
you the order to fire weapons. Therefore, you aren't really
doing the killing, I am. You're just following orders."
"That's not really true, Captain."
"Well, the other thing I can suggest is to remember that you
are simply trying to keep a certain group of Klingons from
destroying this ship, killing yourself and hundreds of other
people. There is little choice. Them or us."
Tasha thought about this for a moment. "It'll still be
difficult."
"It never is an easy thing to kill, for most people," said
Picard, standing up and walking around the table. "Before. you
probably didn't fully realize you were actually killing, since
you never really considered Klingons to be alive. But you seem
to realize that now, and I suppose it's for the best. I've
always found it somewhat disturbing to come across people who
have absolutely no qualms about killing others."
"Are you telling me that you found me disturbing, Captain
Picard?" Tasha asked with a slight smile.
"To a small degree, perhaps. But I was rather hoping that you
were simply not fully aware of the full consequences of your
actions, which appears to have been the case."
"I'm glad I haven't disappointed you."
"You never have. But this is war, and our job is to protect
the Federation. If you truly cannot continue to carry out your
duties..."
"I'm sure I will be able to, Captain."
Picard smiled as Tasha turned and left. A rather interesting
and unexpected development, but he was concerned as to how it
would affect her performance as Security Chief. Would she
hesitate in crucial situations? Nonsense. She was a
professional. She'd do her job. If she couldn't, she'd have the
sense to resign or request a different assignment. He'd hate to
lose her, but people come and go in Starfleet. Especially in
wartime.
Picard returned to the reports from Starfleet, but quickly
tossed them aside. There was nothing there he hadn't already
suspected, but he still wasn't quite ready to accept it yet.
Troubled, he stood and stared out his ready room window, gazing
at the billions of worlds which teetered on the brink of
disaster.
Felix Ling
May 15, 1993
|
|
|
To the best of our knowledge, the text on this page may be freely reproduced and distributed.
If you have any questions about this, please check out our Copyright Policy.
totse.com certificate signatures
|
|
|
About | Advertise | Bad Ideas | Community | Contact Us | Copyright Policy | Drugs | Ego | Erotica
FAQ | Fringe | Link to totse.com | Search | Society | Submissions | Technology
|
|
|
|
|
|
